


Rocking Out Just For The Dead

by GreetingsFromThePunderworld



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullets Era, Desert Song, Donna Way- mentioned, Zombie AU, Zombie Apocalypse, violence and gore ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 06:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10483800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreetingsFromThePunderworld/pseuds/GreetingsFromThePunderworld
Summary: Gerard plugged in the amps. They began to play- the stadium doors splintered and the squirming mob descended down on them like a rotting and rioting mosh pit as they played the familiar chords in repulsive discord.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly an exercise of descriptive writing? Have fun?

  
"We are not getting a hearse," Gerard grumbled, his fingers tracing over the cold metallic surface of his pistol. "It's impractical."

  
"But you have to admit it would be fucking awesome." Frank grinned from the back seat, his inked hands slung over the stained car seat.

  
Ray nodded in agreement from the passenger's seat. He was toying with an empty bullet shell.

  
"The generator and equipment wouldn't fit. Where would we even find one?" Gerard added gruffly.

  
"Okay. Fine. You've proven your point." Frank raised his arms in defeat and threw himself back down in his seat. "It was a dumb idea anyway." He said scratching the side of his head on the portion that was shaved and dyed blonde.

 

Frank settled back into the weighing silence that had earlier plagued them.

  
"Oh shi-" Mikey started. The van jolted and sent the supplies in the back careening forward with a turbulent clang.

  
Bob howled in pain from his seat next to Frank.

  
Mikey had tried his best to avoid the body sprawled out on the highway, but did not swerve far enough. "Sorry." He muttered.

  
Bob growled and resumed cradling his stomach. He had grown sickly thin- worse than anyone in the whole band. His skin was taut over his cheekbones and deep purple bruises were splashed under his eyes. A sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead and his ribs poked out visibly from beneath his threadbare t-shirt. He was not looking good.

  
"It's okay. We're almost there. Look." Ray said pointing to a green road sign that read 'Flint Detroit to the right and Palace Of Auburn Hills 15 miles' in chrome white letters. "Twenty-five minutes tops. If the roads are clear, that is."

  
The roads had been mostly passable so far but they all knew what he was referring to. In Jersey, it was nearly impossible to travel by car. The streets were littered with broken glass, abandoned and overturned cars and bodies. The damage was insurmountable. And that was without taking account of the lifeless forms that lurked and crawled in every single nook and cranny that the daylight didn't touch.

  
It was dangerous times. Being in a heavily populated area, like a city, helped nothing. But the five of them had decided what felt like a long time ago, back in Jersey, on what they were going to do. They were now set on it. Thy would spend their last dying breaths trying to accomplish what they had planned.

  
The hope of survival had always been scarce since their first run in and taste of what the bleak future had in store. They had just finished packing their van from a venue. They were just waiting on Bert to return from the hotel. He never did. Gerard still lets the guilt eat at his insides like a strong acid. What they initially thought was a riot turned out to be their first encounter with the infected. In order survive another day they had to leave Bert. They all told themselves it was too late for him anyway and if they had waited any longer they would have shared his fate.

  
Any optimism they held onto and tucked away like a precious flame had been completely diminished when they witnessed the complete obliteration of Belleville.

  
Upon first arriving in their hometown everything seemed pristine. Or as pristine as New Jersey can be. Normal would be a better term to describe it, aside from lack of humans. It seemed to be that the whole world was infested with hoards of lifeless zombies- including Belleville. Especially Belleville. And also every single fucking city and town on the way from New Jersey to Michigan.

  
There had been too many close calls to count on their journey to New Jersey. Countless times one of them had almost been bitten or killed. Until now. Until the pit stop at the gas station to funnel fuel from the pumps. Until Bob had to take a piss and went into the grimy bathroom without a weapon. Until an animated corpse lodged it's rotting teeth into his wrist.

  
Frank wanted to yell and scream and call him a fucking idiot. Mikey held him back until it settled in that it was too late, it had already happened and there was no changing it now. There was no saving him, or anyone else.

  
The look of torment on Rays face when Bob approached them with his own face contorted in agony and complete despair gave Gerard chills and was etched into his mind forever.

  
They resolved their feelings with stoic faces and boarded up emotions. They continued funneling extra gas for the portable generator and piled into the van.

  
Franks' fingers had grown itchy. He hadn't played in weeks. It was too risky and would definitely attract zombies with the noise. Everybody was yearning to play. Every so often he heard Gerard humming one of their songs, or Bob tapping his fingers against his knife or Ray fingering notes into the seat belt as if it were his guitar.

  
Frank often found himself daydreaming about the melancholic wail of Pansy. The vibrations from each strum of the guitar resounding and purging all the regrets from his body. Washing his bones and soul with the music. He knew his friends felt the exact same way.

  
They were all tired and agitated and empty. Ironically enough the apocalypse drains the very life and soul of you. It leaves you worn and torn until you are barely anything more than the monsters you are trying to outrun.

  
Gerard had witnessed the toll it takes on you first hand. Back on the day they had walked into their childhood home and seen the blood and brain matter splattered on the wall Mikey almost pulled the trigger on himself. Luckily the twin stain remained intact and in Mikey's skull. He had excused himself and trudged up to his bedroom and settled himself on the edge of his bed. He had tears rolling down his cheeks and a revolver pressed to his temple.

  
That's when Gerard had presented the idea to him. The idea they had taken to the rest of their defeated band members. "We're going to play on the largest stage in America. Nobody but us will see, Mikey. It'll be wonderful. You won't have to play with any anxiety." Gerard had said kneeling down in front of his younger brother.

  
Mikey's finger had faltered on the trigger before he dropped his arm to his lap, limp. "Okay." The only semblance of happiness held itself in that promise. To be happy one last time in a world filled with grief, and this was the one thing that couldn't have happened if everything was right.

  
Gerard had wrapped his arms around his brother. He smelled terrible. Gerard focused on that smell instead of the body downstairs. Or the countless ones outside. Or the fact that they were on a mission that ended in death. They all smelled. They were covered from head to toe in sweat and blood and dirt. It was disgusting, stiff clothes and oily hair was something they had all grown accustomed to, though.

  
"What I would do for some cyanide right now." Mikey breathed shakily into Gerard's shoulder.

  
Ray, Bob, and Frank did not go upstairs. They stayed in the kitchen and wrapped Donna in a white sheet they found in a linens closet. Her blank white eyes stared back up at them from the linoleum floor. Her wiry blonde hair was splayed out and tangled beneath her heavy head. Frank looked away, the bullet wound in her forehead was like a grotesque third eye. Bob had set the gun clutched in her stiff, blue hands on the table.

  
There was no morgue for her to go to. No funeral or casket to be buried in. There wouldn't be a service. They would just have to bury her in the backyard. Franks expression was blank and unreadable as he headed for the back door to find a shovel. They had already dug four graves that day, what was one more?

  
Donald was nowhere to be found in the house. They didn't bother letting their minds linger on that any longer.

  
Nobody said a word when the two brothers descended the stairs of their house with tearstained cheeks and faltering hearts. Their arms hung so heavily that it slumped their whole figure like they were giving into gravity, giving up, letting it pull them to the ground as if they were melting.

  
No words of consolation were offered either, they all knew it wouldn't help. "Oh. I'll be right back." Gerard said as though he had a brilliant idea and bounded back up the stairs.

  
He went straight to the cabinet in the bathroom. And whatever angel or devil that was looking out for Gerard, he thanked. He pocketed the half-full bottles of ancient Advil and Tylenol. What was a little more kidney damage in a world that was ending?

  
Ray and Bob had begun to wipe up the body fluid and cartilage soaking into the floral wallpaper.

  
"Leave it." Mikey had said, holding up his hand, his voice hoarse. They did.

  
Ray stared down at his hands and the filthy stomach-churning rag. He let it fall to the floor where Mikey's mother still lay at their feet.

  
Frank had dug a shallow grave in record time. Ray and Bob had made Gerard and Mikey go look for anything useful in the house. If there was medicine left surely there would be other things.

  
Gerard had set himself on taking down any and all family photos or memoirs. He had gathered them into his arms.

  
Ray hefted up the bodies shoulders, he grunted and Bob bent over to lift the feet. Donna's body was still stiff, rigor mortis had just set in. She had only been dead for a day or two.

  
From the yard Frank saw the two struggling with the door, he went to help. They stumbled to the hole in the ground and let her drop on top of the unsettled dirt.

  
The sun seemed to completely ignore the hell taking place on earth. The bright star continued shining on, day after day. It just did not fit with the downtrodden state of everything.

  
Gerard had stepped out into that merry sunshine with his childhood photos. He all but threw them into the grave with his mother. "Burn it." He said and walked back inside without another word.

  
Frank followed, disappearing through the doorway. He returned a moment later with a bottle of window cleaner as an accelerant. "They don't want to watch." He said as he emptied out the bottle of chemicals onto the body. He revealed a crumpled box of matches from his coat pocket. He struck one and let it fall.

  
The sun was setting and the stench of burning flesh had grown strong. Bob had begun to pile the dirt onto the scorched carcass and framed photos.

  
Frank understood why Gerard did that. He would rather have no mark left of his identity here as if he never existed. It was as if he could erase his existence from the world.

  
They left in a hurry. Gerard choked back the lump in his throat as he told them what they were going to do. It wasn't an option or a request. It was as synonymous with the demise of the world. As soon as the plan left his chapped lips it was finalized.

  
They had been lucky enough to keep hold of all of the band equipment from the tour. All they need was enough fuel to get them to Michigan and a portable generator.

  
They found one easily in a nearby department store. They found it extremely unsettling with how few encounters with zombies they had. Nobody was complaining.

  
With everything they needed, they set out on the twelve hour trip to Flint Detroit, Michigan to play in the largest amphitheater in the United States. They had only wishes they could have played there with their fans, instead of zombies, filling up the rows of seats.

  
Mikey pulled off onto Exit 79. They were mere minutes away from the parking lot. Excitement bubbled up in Franks' chest, he was finally going to get to perform on his guitar again.

  
It would take them half an hour to set up the generator, amps and tune the instruments. They had done it hundreds of times, like a well-oiled machine, they could do it.

  
Ray began rapping his leg, the shotgun in his lap clicked against the car door.

  
Mikey gave the car more gas and accelerated.

  
Even Bob who was at death's door and passing the threshold of his home, seemed to liven up as they pulled into the vacant and spacious parking lot. Litter and trash was strewn about the parking lot, but there were no zombies.

  
Until Gerard spotted what appeared to be the only one stumbling like a drunkard over a curb. He pointed it out to the group. "If we stay quiet enough while unpacking we should be able to get inside and secure the doors," Gerard said. They had learned from trial and error that the monsters were attracted by the noise and that they could go by undetected if they smelled like rotting and decaying meat.

  
Ray had vomited when they discovered that.

  
Mikey had driven around The Palace Of Auburn Hills and found the unloading dock that connected to the stage. He had pulled into the cavernous concrete garage. It was large enough to hold at least ten transport trucks.

  
"Ready to fight like hell?" Bob asked in his rasping voice.

  
Frank nodded. "We all know the plan?" He asked.

  
"Go over it one more time," Ray suggested.

  
Gerard spoke up. "Okay, so Ray and Mikey'll secure all the doors and entrances, me and Frank'll clean out the stadium and Bob can start unpacking."

  
They all nodded. Ray opened the glove compartment to reveal an uneasy amount of bullets. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  
"If you can, try not to use the guns," Frank spoke up again. "We wanna stay quiet for as long as possible."

  
The five of them nodded and set out on their tasks.

  
Mikey and Ray hefted from the trunk, the boxes of padlocks and chains. Frank set off towards the backstage area to kill anything that was creeping around.

  
Gerard lingered with Bob momentarily. He gazed out at the paint chip sky. It was the last time he would see it. He removed the Advil from his pocket and held it in his hand. "Heads up." He said to Bob before tossing it his way.

  
Bob's eyes widened. "You had this the whole time and you didn't fuckin' down them all?"

  
Gerard shot him a toothy grin and took out the second bottle. He shook it and popped the cap off. He dumped the few remaining pills into his grimy palm and scarfed them down.

  
Bob muttered something along the lines of "bastard".

  
Gerard shook his head and flipped the safety off his gun. He took two boxes from the glove compartment and slid a knife into the waistband of his cargo pants. The sharp, cold metal dug into his lower back. He went to join Frank, there were already three immobile forms on the floor.

  
Twenty minutes later Mikey and Ray returned arms empty and doors sufficiently bound. It would hold off the swarm long enough to play at least a few songs.

  
Bob had lugged most if the cases and instruments into the center of the basketball court, there was nobody to set up a stage.  Mikey and Ray carried the generator, Gerard took the case of gasoline.

  
"Just like the good old days," Frank muttered unsheathing a mic stand and tossing its casing to the side.

  
They set the stage up almost exactly as their typical set up was. Bob on the middle rear, Ray on the left, Mikey flanking the back right, Frank to the far right and Gerard taking center stage.

  
They had two amps and one subwoofer. It would have to do.

  
They saved the instruments for last. Bob had already fastened his drums and was seated on his stool, twiddling the two oak stick skillfully in between his bony fingers.

  
Ray kneeled down in front of his case, his shoulders were shuddering. Mikey's were stiff and pulled stiff when he straightened up from his hunched position, he slung the support strap of his bass guitar around his neck. He straightened his glasses and pulled his beanie off letting his wild and untamed hair free.

  
They all saw Franks broken smile as he ran his fingers over Pansy's sleek white exterior.

  
Gerard had already poured the gas into the generator, it sputtered to life when he cranked the chord. He connected the extension chords and plugged in the amps, they sparked to life.

  
For the first time Gerard took in just how massive the stadium was, he felt dwarfed, like a single star in the infinite sky.

  
He began to tremble when Frank struck the first riff on his guitar. He could almost pretend they were back on stage performing for a crowd of fans.

  
Mikey and Ray plucked their strings in harmony. It was intense, rough and messy. Just as they expected, just like in the recording studios and just like they were playing live. They playing stuttered when the chains on the doors rattled and echoed throughout the monumental building.

  
The thousands of rows of seats towered over the five of them, it was the opposite of a defensive barrier. The sloping rows acted as a welcoming to the struggling zombies. As his friends tuned their instruments, Gerard tuned them out and imagined the abhorrent and nauseating stench that would spill over them when those doors splintered and broke down. The vile things that devoured his family would tumble down the stairs and plastic chairs to tear at his flesh and turn him into one of them. He didn't mind. He'd always thought it would be cool to be a zombie.

  
"Ready?" He shouted into the microphone. His voice was raw and scratchy to his own ears. He could finally feel the groggy blissfulness of the Tylenol begin to kick into his system. His heartbeat was steadily increasing in pace.

  
Bob beat a rhythmic string of taps and bangs into the snare and bass drum.

  
Gerard let himself take a halting breath before he gave them the signal to begin the first song on the well-rehearsed setlist.

  
They would never get to accomplish what they had originally set out to do, help the outcasts and lost kids find their way in a cruel world. They were never going to save anyone, not even themselves.

  
These songs are their suicide note. The lyrics are the letters and words on a piece of tear-stained paper. The chords are a cry of help that would fall on all the dead ears. The dead ears outside of those doors. Those shaking, rattling doors.

  
Gerard's singing turned into screaming. He fought to keep the rhythm with every straining muscle in his body, every cracking bone and pulling the ligament, with every snapping tendon he fought to keep a melody. The screaming tore at his vocal chords until it turned more into sobbing than the actual lyrics. The rest of his band members and noise drowned out his straining screams.

  
Franks shaking fingers struggled to keep the wail of Pansy in check, she was crying too. He played with every ounce of strength he couldn't muster. He thrust his feet upward into a repetitive jump that jolted his ankles until it felt like they would shatter and the bones would splinter. He dropped to his knees when they reached the bridge, but he didn't stop playing, he couldn't. He was playing to save his life.

  
Ray could swear his fingers were bleeding from the pressure he was applying to the razor strings. His frizzy hair blinded him, but he didn't need to see, he knew these chords like his own hands. He could feel the sweat beading and bleeding into his shirt and clinging to the back of his neck.

  
Mikey let the grief and pain he wasn't showing in his face flow through his appendages and through the strings on his base. He could feel the vibrations from the rest of the bands playing. From his brothers stressed voice, Bobs pummeling on the stretched paper of his drums. From Franks frantic, convulsing movements that purged him from his own atrocities and from his and Rays intertwining euphonies.

  
All the combined agony of the entire world blended into a paroxysm of cacophony; their music.

  
On the last jowl of their fourth song, the doors gave way. Creatures from miles around must have been drawn into a hoard that compiled on the barrier of the tremendously structured building.

  
Without missing a single beat, they threw themselves headfirst into the next song.

  
Broken bones and amounting flesh piled through the door. The crumpling skeletons oozed down the terracing steps. As if in slow motion the grotesqueries amassed into one breathing, acrid beast readying itself to devour its next spare meal.

  
They all played with grins splitting their face until the end and the last note of sorrow echoed back against the backs of all the writhing disfigurements.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Sorry I wrote this I guess-


End file.
